


Interstice

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Incest, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight





	Interstice

Mikey starts peeling off layers of sweat-stiff clothes as soon as he gets in the door of the hotel room. Gerard's still in the hallway, talking at Ray about something or other, but Mikey ignores him, tossing his jacket and hoodie aside and then stripping his t-shirt over his head.

"You know you have to pay for those," Gerard says, hanging on the edge of the door and staring around it at him. "You can't just keep dressing yourself out of our merch. We take a hit on that."

"I've been doing it for a year now and you didn't say anything."

"I kept meaning to. I forgot. I've got other stuff on my mind, you know." Mikey rolls his eyes and Gerard flips him off, then looks over his shoulder back into the hallway to answer Ray. "Yeah, totally, man. See you in the morning."

Gerard slams the door and kicks his duffel bag across the carpet while Mikey squirms out of his jeans. "You're going to crush your nuts in those things," Gerard mutters, fumbling in his jacket pockets.

"You're one to talk." Mikey finally kicks the denim all the way off and flops back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "You can't smoke in here."

"I'm going out on the balcony thing."

"It's raining."

"I don't care."

"Just don't bitch at me when you get all wet." Mikey closes his eyes and wiggles against the bedding. "Please."

"Yeah, yeah." The balcony door slides open and then closed, and Mikey listens to the sound of his own breath in the sudden silence, slow and a little raspy. He should go shower, or at least put on a t-shirt, but he's comfortable and it's warm.

When he opens his eyes, it's a lot darker in the room, and he's cold. There's a hissing noise in the air that leaves him blinking in confusion until he realizes the strip of light along the wall is coming from under the bathroom door, and that Gerard must be in the shower.

He shifts up the mattress to lie back against the pillows, rubbing his eyes and then scratching at his stomach. The hiss of the water rises and falls in pitch, and he smiles a little, picturing Gerard moving around under the spray. His hand slips lower, rubbing lazily at the base of his cock through his underwear.

He lets the visuals roll out in his head slowly, deliberately, thick with details; Gerard pooling shampoo in his hand, then working it roughly against his hair, ragged and dry from the dye. Suds running down the back of his neck to his shoulders, over the freckles and birthmarks, then slip-sliding down the line of Gerard's spine. Mikey exhales slowly, through clenched teeth, and runs two fingers down the length of his dick, feeling it getting firm and full in his briefs.

He hears Gerard cursing, over the water and through the wall, and squeezes himself gently, picturing Gerard fumbling with the paper wrapping of the complimentary soap. Then rolling the bar in his palm under the water, working up a bit of lather, and then his hands sliding over his body, drawing slick paths over pale skin.

Mikey rubs his dick slowly, fitting his palm to the curve of it. He can picture it so clearly--Gerard running the soap over his chest, his thighs. He knows how Gerard is after a show, still buzzing on adrenaline and stage-high, the slow burn of nicotine layered on top like glitter. He knows how he’s teetering between exhaustion and exhilaration, his throat raw, his dick still half-hard, and he knows--he _knows_ \--the moment when Gerard’s soap-slick hand drops to touch himself.

He can picture this with perfect clarity, too, the water pouring down and the stream rising up and Gerard tilting his head back, keeping the spray clear of his face while he runs his fingers over his cock. He’ll take his time, exploring it like he’s never encountered it before, brush the backs of his knuckles under his balls and thumb the head casually, just rough enough to send a jolt through his whole body and make him moan.

Mikey thinks he can hear that, over the water and the fan. He squeezes his own dick, not too hard, just enough to keep his control. He’s still sleep-foggy and a little cold, his thoughts slow and muddled around the sharp image of Gerard taking himself in hand and starting to stroke. He knows how Gerard likes it--slow first, and tight, twisting just a little at the tip before dropping back to the base to start again, repeating that little shock to the nerves--and how he must look, hair clinging to his face, mouth open, skin flushed in the heat.

Mikey’s dick is hard enough now to curve up and over the elastic of his briefs. He bites down on his tongue, distracting himself from want with pain, and rubs his thumb slowly over the slit until it bleeds salty-sweet wet. He rubs that in a circle over the head and allows himself one low, rough moan just as the sound of the shower cuts off.

Mikey stills his hand, fingers curled loosely over the exposed flesh, and forces himself to breathe slowly through his nose as the bathroom door swings open and Gerard steps into the room, backlit against the bathroom light, towel around his waist and hands dragging through his hair.

“You awake?” Gerard asks, squinting into the darkness. “Mikes?”

“Yeah.” Mikey clears his throat, trying to chase the raw, husky edge from his voice. “Yeah, I’m awake.”

“I’m gonna turn the light on, then, okay?” Gerard moves toward the switch without waiting for a response, and Mikey lies still, setting his teeth against his tongue again and letting his fingers rub slow lines over hot, hard flesh.

Gerard turns back toward him and stops, eyes widening. His hair falls over his forehead in a ragged crest, bright and vivid like a bird’s, and Mikey’s heart clenches in his chest. Sometimes he looks at Gerard with double vision, seeing _mine_ and _not-mine_ at once, because Gerard needs to be a chameleon sometimes, shift his colors. He sheds his skin and starts new, and Mikey has to blink to clear his eyes and see through it to the bones and blood he knows.

“You could’ve waited for me, you know,” Gerard says, hitching his towel up higher. “Or, like, mentioned you _wanted_ something before I got in the shower.”

“I was asleep.”

“Well, you kind of missed your window of opportunity for all this.” Gerard gestures at himself and Mikey rolls his eyes, sliding his hand down to rub at his balls through his briefs.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“I guess I could blow you.” Gerard sounds put-upon, but he’s smiling, that crooked grin he can’t control, and when Mikey flips him off with his free hand, he’s smiling too.

“Don’t do me any favors, dickhead.”

“Well, then don’t let me bug you. Just keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll see what’s on TV.” Gerard grabs the remote and sits down at the foot of his bed, knees splayed wide and towel threatening to escape entirely. Mikey closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, then arches his hips off the bed and tugs his underwear down to where he can kick it off easily, if not gracefully.

He knows Gerard’s watching him out of the corner of his eye while he flips through the channels. And it’s not that he’s putting on a show, exactly; he just happens to like going slow. Taking his time. Not making noise beyond rough, hitched breaths. It’s a personal challenge, a test of control. Not everyone is a complete goddamn exhibitionist shouting it to the rafters all the time.

“What exactly are you waiting for?” Gerard asks, watching him openly now, wiggling the remote around like he’s about to change the channel away from _Hillbilly Handfishin’_ but hasn’t quite made up his mind yet. “You’re not a porn star, you know. Nobody is going to be impressed by your stamina.”

Mikey flips him off again. His stomach is tightening, his pulse pounding in his ears, and it would be _really_ easy to come, curl up in the blankets, and pass out for the six hours til bus call.

Instead, he takes a deep breath, draws his hand away, and slaps his own erection, hard.

“Christ.” Gerard puts the remote down and abandons all pretense of watching the TV. He stretches out on his side, staring wide-eyed across the narrow space between the beds. “What is it with you and denial?”

Mikey shakes his head, eyes closed, fingers digging hard into his inner thigh while his brain sorts out the levels of pain. “Not now, Gee.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not like you haven’t gotten _everything you want_ for your entire fucking life--”

“Gerard!” Mikey’s dick went soft when he slapped it, falling against his thigh, but the smirk on Gerard’s face at getting a reaction makes it stir again. “Shut the fuck up.”

“You should be so lucky.” Gerard reaches out, catching a strand of Mikey’s hair and tugging at it, laughing stupid and honking and too loud as Mikey hisses, his hand tightening around his cock.

But he doesn’t say anything else while Mikey coaxes himself back to hardness, just lies there on his side and watches, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. The towel’s gone loose around his hips, ready to fall away if he moves. Mikey lets his nails slip against the delicate skin on the underside of his cock, letting the pain back him away from the edge just a little, silently willing himself to _wait, wait_.

He holds on until Gerard exhales roughly and whispers, “Fuck, Mikey, please” barely loud enough to hear. He slides his hand roughly down to the base, twists his wrist, squeezes, and lets go, nodding and pushing himself up against the pillows.

“Yeah. Y-yeah, Gee, c’mon.”

Gerard scrambles across the gap between them and onto the bed, pushing Mikey’s knees apart and lowering his head to lick once over Mikey’s stomach before he takes his dick in his mouth. He closes his eyes and takes Mikey deep, the hot tight wet around him so suddenly and completely that Mikey moans out loud, fingers scrambling against the sheets.

Gerard bobs his head slowly, like he loves it, like the texture of Mikey’s skin against his lips and tongue is something to savor. Mikey moans again, half plea and half warning, and reaches down to push Gerard’s hair off his forehead. The strands catch on his fingers where they’re sticky with pre-come and rough from his bass. Gerard’s eyes open halfway, lazy and catlike as he looks up at Mikey through lashes and tangled red hair.

 _You_ , Mikey thinks, but he can’t say anything, can’t manage more than breath and a sharp upward thrust of his hips as his stomach clenches and Gerard lowers his eyes again, flicking his tongue lazily and taking Mikey deep. _You--_

He comes before he can even finish the thought, before it really becomes anything other than just _him, Gerard_ , the raw concept of him that’s always to Mikey’s left, wherever he goes.

Gerard pulls off him slowly, leaving light kisses on his thigh and hip before sitting up and retrieving his towel from the floor. “I’m exhausted,” he says, his voice low and rough enough that Mikey winces. “Bus call’s early.”

Mikey nods, closing his eyes and fumbling to pull the blanket up over himself. “Should shower,” he mumbles, but it isn’t even convincing to himself.

“Whatever.” Gerard crawls into his own bed and exhales roughly against the pillow. They lie in silence for a moment, breath just starting to even out.

“Aren’t you going to get the light?” Mikey asks finally.

“You get it.”

“No.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck yourself.”

“Fuck yourself harder.” Gerard pulls the pillow over his head, which is apparently a game-ending move. He’s such a dick. “And you’ve still gotta pay for those shirts.”


End file.
